


Differences and simularities

by MorteMistrata



Series: Lions everywhere [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cultural Differences, F/F, F/M, Lotor was a demi god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 10:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15603927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorteMistrata/pseuds/MorteMistrata
Summary: Romelle and Allura talk and discover that their cultures are very different from one another, and yet, they still have a lot in common.





	1. Traveling

**Author's Note:**

> So...uh.. season 7 comes out on my birthday and this is how I cope. Please read and review.

1.

 

For the first few hours after they leave the Castle for the last time, no one says a word. Allura thinks that it might be grief. For Coran, it certainly is. His grandfather had been the main architect, and had raised three generations there. It was in the Castle’s med center that Coran was born, in it’s ballroom where he’d been married, and it was on it’s bridge where he’d first learned of the deaths of hithat he’d lost his wife and child. His whole life had existed within the Castle’s walls and now it was gone. 

 

Maybe the shock is to blame. Keith’s sudden reappearance, Shiro and Lotor’s betrayal, as well as the discovery of other Alteans would certainly be enough to steal one’s words. For everyone else, it seems to have done so, but for Allura, it has only given her more questions to ask, and made her feel more restless than a solitary Galra soldier in a crowd of rebels. 

 

Allura’s knuckles turn white as she guides Blue into formation beside Yellow, and sets her on auto-pilot. Her body aches from the quintessence exposure, and she cannot tell if the anger that lingers in her body stems from the betrayal, or the effects of the poisoning. All she knows for certain is that it is quiet, she is angry, and she wants to scream. Allura pulls her helmet off and turns off her microphone. In the cabin behind her, Romelle sits up and takes notice. 

 

“Are you alright?” These are the first words that anyone has said since the end of their battle, and the first words Romelle has said to Allura that doesn’t consist of yelling. Somehow, she feels that it should mean something, that she should take notice of it, but all Allura can think is that she is glad that someone has finally asked.

 

“No, I’m not.” Allura stands, and stretches, her back cracking like the click of nails on stone. “But is anyone? Are you?”

 

Romelle scoots over on her makeshift seat, and motions for Allura to sit down beside her. “No, I’m not.” She cracks a careful smile. “But is anyone?”

 

They both chuckle, careful to stay quiet enough to not wake Coran, who is somehow sleeping while standing, pressed in between two floating closets full of priceless dresses and other artifacts. 

 

Allura slumps back against the wall and sighs. “Is it obvious?”

 

Romelle shrugs. “Today’s been a hard day. I’ve known you for ten minutes, and that was obvious enough.” She leans close to Allura, and drops her voice again, as if they were two schoolgirls gossiping in the town market. “You had a thing for Lotor, didn’t you? You liked him?”

 

Allura’s ears grow hot. She shifts her legs and tries not to let the sudden pain in her chest show on her face. “Well, he made it quite hard not to, and trust me, I tried.” 

 

“Hmm.” Romelle hums, and tugs at the hair which frames her face. A coil if blond hair is stretched, then shrinks back to it’s true length. “Lotor rarely asked, but when he did, just about any Altean would submit to him. If I’m being honest, I believe that we were all a little in love with him.”

 

Allura pauses and muses on what Romelle had said. From what she can gather of Romelle’s character, she’s very direct, so when she said ‘any’...

 

“When you said ‘any’,” Allura starts, and then grows silent at the sound of Romelle’s bitter laugh.

 

“If a demi-god asked for you, would you deny Him?”

 

“I- er-, no, I,” She has no idea what to say, and so falls silent. Allura hadn’t thought much on the New Alteans, beyond the atrocities Lotor had committed against them, but it is obvious to her now how many differences there must be between the culture that Romelle grew up in, and the one that Allura knows. 

 

Romelle laughs again at Allura’s silence, and pulls her knees to her chest. “Exactly. Anyways, I just mean to say that you’re not alone, and that you’re not the only one who’s felt like this.”

 

“Thanks.”


	2. Campfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like validation, and i already wrote this, plus I'll be busy with writing a commission for a bit, so here. Read and review pls.

 

2.

 

It takes five hours- five hours of silent, brutal flying- before anyone dares suggest they land for the night, and make camp. Allura doesn’t realize just how exhausted she is until she sets Blue down on the grassy plain of some strange alien moon, and meets the others for dinner. As Lance and Pidge poke at the beginnings of a fire, and Keith and his mother set off to hunt for fresh food, and Hunk and Coran start making dinner, Allura sits down against a rock and closes her eyes. 

 

Romelle sits down beside her, and again, pulls her knees to her chest. Her clothes are similar to Altean ones, obviously, but the threading and layers are boringly utilitarian, instead of the detailed embroidery of traditional Altean wear. Her accent is close to Allura’s, but something is off about it, something sets it apart. Lotor’s role as a messiah and as gatekeeper means that he was the one who ultimately got to choose which parts of Altean culture were preserved, and which were allowed to fade away; Allura has to wonder what else he has done to influence and shape her culture. 

 

“What?” Romelle asks, not unkindly. 

 

Allura looks away, embarrassed at having been caught staring. “Nothing.”

 

“Not nothing.” Romelle grabs Allura’s hand and holds it between her own. Allura starts at the sudden warmth. “You have questions, I know you do. Ask me. I don’t mind.”

 

“And do you have questions too?”

 

Romelle grins. “Of course I do. The history which I know is undoubtedly heavily altered and full of propaganda.”

 

“A question for a question, then?”

 

Romelle nods. “Yes, good plan.”

 

“First question: what was your society like?”

 

“We farmed, and traded. Depending on the size of the village, you might find a healer or two exempted from Lotor’s draft. Lotor’s men assigned jobs based on affinity, although some jobs were passed down through families.”

 

Allura thinks of her own Altea, which had been more technologically advanced that most of her neighbors, and sighs. Any thoughts she might have had on sharing anecdotes on her experiences with various artisans and diplomats disappears. “What about the artists? The diplomats? The teachers?”

 

“Unnecessary, unneeded, and thus, we didn’t have them.” Romelle shrugs. She watches as the campfire suddenly grows, and Lance falls on his butt in shock. Pidge laughs, and tosses another log into the fire. “Did you have a cure for the glows?”

 

“The glows?” Allura tries out the words, but they remain unfamiliar.

 

“Your marks start to grow, and gradually spread across your skin like a rash?”

 

Allura remembers a lesson in Altean history, a chapter on an epidemic that permanently maimed and scarred thousands, and killed more. If she recalls correctly, ‘The glows’, or as they called it in Allura’s day, ‘The Luminance’, was a sexually transmitted disease that caused a severe form of quintessence corruption. It was cured in Coran’s early childhood, and was rarely seen again after due to the vaccinations given at birth.

 

“Yes,” Allura says carefully. “We did, or rather, we do. There should be a formula for it somewhere in Pidge’s copy of the Castle database.”

 

Romelle frowns heavily, and shakes her head. “So many dead, from something already cured. Why would Lotor allow that, if he could have avoided it?”

 

Allura isn’t sure what to say, but she tries to say something anyways. “Perhaps it was lost. The Alteans Lotor tracked down were diplomats and traders, right? It’s unlikely that they would have known the technical details of such a thing.”

 

“But Lotor was the son of a warlord. A warlord who was best friends with the Altean king. Surely they shared things such as medical files and the like.” Romelle looks up at Allura, her head tilted to the side as if it’d grown heavy with introspection. “I mean, wasn’t his wife an Altean scientist?”

 

“I- uh- yes, she was, but by the time of the war, she had grown sick and-”

 

Romelle stands, hands curled into fists, and kicks at the log she’d been sitting on. “Bastard!” She growls. “Stupid, heartless bastard!” She pauses then, and looks at Allura apologetically.

 

Allura raises her hands in a show of surrender. “No, no, I agree. Feel free to continue cursing him.”

 

Romelle snorts then, the anger leaking out slowly like dew dropping into the grass. She sits back down and sighs. “I shouldn’t be so surprised. He’s done worse.”

 

Allura places a hand on her shoulder, and they fall into a comfortable silence as Keith appears at the edge of the forest, a six legged carcass leaving a russet red streak on the vegetation behind him. 

 

They watch as he brings it close to camp, and then pauses before them, wiping sweat from his brow. He grins slightly, and says, “Do either of you know how to carve this thing?” But he says it to Romelle, not Allura. He looks at Romelle expectantly, as if already knowing the answer. 

 

“Of course I do.” Romelle laughs behind a calloused hand, and stands, brushing dirt off of the seat of her pants. “You mean to say that the ‘Defenders of the Universe’ don’t know how to live off the land?”

 

Keith chuckles as Romelle takes the other side of the carcass and helps him bring it towards the fire. “Before this gig, we didn’t get out all that much.”

 

“‘We’?” Romelle repeats, a delicate blond brow raised in question. “I’d say that you do pretty fine. You are in a different category than that of your friends.”

 

Keith’s ears darken with embarrassment and Romelle smothers a laugh. They’re flirting, Allura realizes, flirting openly, and so she stands and walks away, giving the two of them privacy to pretend that this camp is not one of necessity, but one of fun and youth and joy. 


End file.
